


Led By A Beating Heart

by freoduweard



Series: Breath, Blood, and Soul [2]
Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kaladin trusting people enough to allow simple touch intimacy, M/M, Multi, Oathbringer speculation, Threesome - F/M/M, Words of Radiance spoilers, assumes Adolin will be a Dustbringer in the future, he even smiles, in chapter three - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:28:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freoduweard/pseuds/freoduweard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabble requests centered around the OT3 of Shallan Davar, Kaladin of Hearthstone, and Adolin Kholin - and all the OTP variations thereof. May twist timelines, may include AUs. Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, anything goes.</p><p>Chapter One: Battles are dirty work. Sometimes you need help getting cleaned up afterward. (Shakadolin)</p><p>Chapter Two: Night Terrors - an entry for Cosmere Challenge's Kadolin Week</p><p>Chapter Three: CFSWF - The murder of a Highprince has consequences.</p><p>Chapter Four: Breathtaking (A Kadolin 5+1)</p><p>Chapter Five: Sunrise - We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up... (Shadolin)</p><p>Chapter Six: Fallen - “I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.” (Shakadolin)</p><p>Chapter Seven: Reach Forth and Stumble - A few interconnected short posts written in response to one-word prompts for Adolin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comfort and Cleanliness

**Author's Note:**

> This will eventually become a collection of short drabbles for this OT3, but for now, have some fluff.
> 
> Chapter One: From a prompt on Tumblr: "someone me a stormlight fic that involves Kaladin’s partner/best friend whoever you want washing his hair for him after he got bits of thunderclast and voidbringer stuck in it???"
> 
> That's it that's the drabble.

One look at the pair of them, and Shallan raised a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle.

“You look like you’ve been out in a highstorm.”

She was met with a scowl and a grin. Kaladin  _hmpf_ -ed. “Close enough.”

Kaladin and Adolin were plastered in mud and dust, the blue of uniform and Plate almost obscured by a drab brown broken by the occasional streak of orange voidbringer blood. Adolin’s helm had apparently spared most of his face from the dirt, though there was a band of dust crusted across his nose and eyes.

Kaladin had no such luck.

The windrunner’s face was even browner than normal from the grit, dust e _verywhere_ , even floating from his lashes whenever he blinked. Long black hair no longer fell in gentle, curling waves, but was snarled and matted with mud and soot and blood and Heralds only knew what else. Adding injury to insult, the ends were frazzled, as if from a great heat.

“This,” Kaladin hissed, “is  _your fault_.”

“….oops?” Adolin’s grin was unrepentant, though he had the decency to look slightly chastened under Kaladin’s stormfront-scowl. He was getting more skilled, but control over Division took a lot more finesse than they had originally thought, especially when used in tandem with Friction. The results were… explosive. Adolin had taken to it with the determination and intensity that made him a master duelist, but it was still advised to stay well away from his blast radius.

As Kaladin apparently had not.

There had been no true anger in the bridgeman’s voice with his accusation, but the annoyance was real. Shallan couldn’t blame him. Grit and grime on the battlefield was one thing, but afterwards?

Cleanliness had been one of the things that Bridge Four prided themselves on while they were still slaves, she had learned, and one of the few sources of pride they had while in Sadeas’ camp. That carried over even after they had been freed, but for Kaladin, surgeon’s son that he was, it went double.

Shallan looked over the two men with a small, sympathetic wince of disgust. “All right. You -” She pointed at Adolin, using a tone of command that she had picked up from Jasnah. “- out of the Plate.  _You’re_  coming with me.” Her finger switched targets. “A bath is obviously in order.”

Luckily for them, their quarters were outfitted with a private washroom - one of the perks of being a triad of rank, though there was still debate amongst many about just what kind of rank the returned Radiant orders should be afforded. Shallan reached up, taking Kaladin’s wrist, and gently but firmly pulled him over to the small, tile-floored room, grabbing and dragging along a chair as she went.

She took him by the shoulders and nudged him into the chair before he had a chance to protest. With him seated and her standing, Shallan was finally on eye-level with him.  _Absurdly tall Alethi,_  she thought fondly.  _And I just had to choose two of the tallest._

It was the work of but a moment to unbutton her sleeve and slip her safehand out. Kaladin visibly swallowed and his eyes flickered away for a second, a blush faintly colouring his cheeks. Shallan allowed herself a small, curling smile tinged with a hint of wickedness. It was  _cute_ , really, how they still reacted to her bared left hand even now. She had overcome her own apprehensive blush at revealing her safehand to them some time ago.

A warm, wet cloth for his face took care of most of the dirt there, but it was the lesser of two evils. Sleeves rolled back, Shallan set to work. The mud in his hair was clumped and only semi-dry, sticking to itself and tangling the long strands. It was a  _mess_. Her fingers gently teased at the knots of dirt, little clumps dislodging and falling to his shoulders, though Kaladin twitched every now and then when she tugged a little too hard. 

Adolin came over once he managed to peel out of his filthy Plate, his large bronze hands joining her tiny pale ones as they tried to work the worst of the matting out of Kaladin’s hair. It was slow going, and both of them paused whenever Kaladin made a noise, though he never complained. Finally, the mats tamed down to tangles, Adolin reached for a comb and Shallan leaned back, flexing her stiff fingers. 

Kaladin met her eyes. His brow was relaxed from its earlier scowl, and there was even the hint of a smile at his mouth. He looked… content. Shallan’s mind whooped silently in victory.

“…thank you.” Kaladin looked as if he were about to say something more, but at that moment the smooth tines of the comb scraped lightly against the nape of his neck. Shallan could see it as it happened - the way the words and his breath caught in his throat, dark lashes fluttering as his eyes unfocused for a split second. She laughed and leaned over to kiss Kaladin’s forehead, the raised scars of his slave brands a now-familiar pattern against her lips. Her gaze met Adolin’s over the top of his head, and the prince’s smile matched her own.


	2. Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An entry for Cosmere Challenge's Kadolin week over on Tumblr, for the prompt 'hurt/comfort'.

It wasn’t unusual for nightmares to plague Kaladin.

His sleeping mind didn’t need to conjure terrors unreal; no, his own memory was rife with more than enough fear and regret already. Tien, his broken body held in Kaladin’s arms. The horror of Amaram’s betrayal. Rillir Roshone, dying on his father’s surgery table. All those he had failed and was unable to save, judging him with accusing eyes. Syl’s anguished cries as he pushed their bond to the breaking point.

Sometimes the nightmare would run its course and Kaladin would wake in a cold sweat. Other times, he knew he thrashed, unable to break free of the dream. When he was in the slaves’ storehouse or the bridgemen’s barracks, none had attempted to rouse him during those times; either they didn’t care, or they didn’t dare. Alone in his officers’ room in the warcamp, there was no one to do so.

Having a bedmate around was… different.

It wasn’t always easy. One time, a nightmare of Amaram consumed him, Kaladin watching, _screaming_ as his last living squadmates fell around him, the approaching stormwarden holding the glowing branding iron. That hated voice echoed - _For saving my life, I spare yours_ \- even as something pulled him from the dream, a sharp grip at his arms. Kaladin saw the glint of light eyes in the darkness and, still caught in the memory, shrank back with a whimper of _no no no no…_

Adolin had flinched back as if struck. But instead of retreating, he had remained there, hands outstretched but not touching. _Hey, Kaladin. Bridgeboy. You’re here. You’re safe. It’s me. Remember me?_

It had taken a few fraught moments, fearful and half-coherent, and then Kaladin reached out to lace their fingers together.

It _was_ different, having a bedmate. Waking meant warmth and solidity instead of staring into the darkness as sleep eluded him. Gentle strokes down his back reminded him that his scars there were long-healed, not raw and bleeding. A familiar heartbeat beneath his hand was a steady, repeated reassurance. Even if he didn’t talk about what haunted him, he could hold Adolin close and be held in return and just… _be_ , existing there in that moment instead of in the nightmare.

But there were nights when Kaladin wasn’t the one in need of comfort.

—

Kaladin awoke to a sudden pain in his side. He immediately jolted upright, training and instinct looking for danger. The room was dark, but tinted blue with Nomon’s pale light. All of their spheres were covered for nighttime, though some sat in a small bag on the bedside chest for easy access, just in case. Nothing moved in that dimly-lit darkness, no threat that Kaladin could see.

Movement, right beside him.

Kaladin had only just looked down to the sleeping form at his side when Adolin jerked violently and smacked Kaladin again, tossing and turning. His voice was low, an unintelligible mumble, and closed eyelids masked flickering movement behind them. Patchwork brows furrowed heavily - angry or pained, Kaladin could not tell. But after long experience, he knew night terrors when he saw them.

“Adolin. _Adolin._ ” Kaladin reached out and took hold of the other man’s shoulder to shake him awake.

Adolin’s eyes snapped open, and suddenly Kaladin was flat on his back, a hand painfully digging into his diaphragm to pin him down, another at his throat in a crushing vice-grip. Adolin’s face was twisted in a harsh snarl, bright eyes vacant and unseeing. _He’s still in the nightmare!_

Kaladin gasped, but the only air he got past the pressure on his neck was a thin, rattling wheeze. A twinge of panic lanced through him as he twisted and shoved upward, but Adolin was broader and heavier than he was, despite his superior height, and Kaladin was still half-tangled in the sheets. He couldn’t buck him off, but that pained breath had caught just enough Stormlight to use. A twist of will and tempest Lashed Adolin to the side in a tumble of shifted gravity. Torn away, Adolin hit the wall with a solid thump and a hefty _ooof_ of air leaving his lungs, then slid down with a groan as Kaladin’s light ran out.

Either the fall or the impact must have finally woken him, because Adolin looked up, bleary but relatively lucid. It took a moment for him to regain his breath. “Kaladin? What in Damnation just…” Adolin trailed off, likely as clarity and memory returned. He remained slumped against the wall, but buried his face in his hands as his shoulders bowed inwards, trembling. “Storms. _Storms._ ”

Kaladin breathed - and then coughed, his windpipe still recovering. He took an easier breath as he detangled the blankets, slid off of their bed, and padded over. They had long before resolved not to apologise to each other for incidents like this. Both knew that you weren’t in your right mind when trapped by night terrors. Kaladin sank down to sit in front of Adolin, as close as he could, their legs awkwardly folding together. He took Adolin’s hands in his, gently but insistently drawing them away from his face. No tears marked those cheeks, but Adolin’s breathing was ragged and his fingertips twitched uncontrollably. He would not look up to meet Kaladin’s gaze.

“It had to be done, it _had_ to, he’d already nearly killed us - so many times! The Tower, the duel, the bridge mechanic, and he’d only have kept getting subtler and closer until Father was _dead_ and then wh-”

 _Sadeas._ Kaladin cut him off by resting his forehead against the princeling’s -  _not a princeling anymore, the punishment of Exile stripped him of Shards and rank and family name_ \- and rubbing slow circles on Adolin’s palms with calloused thumbs. They’d been over this, but Kaladin of all people knew how nightmares could lay old wounds open to the bone, deeper than any stormlight could heal.

The blood on Adolin’s hands haunted him, but Kaladin knew that it wasn’t entirely Sadeas’ murder that left Adolin shaken to the core. The reaction from his father, the lack of contact with his brother - exile had meant not only the loss of his family, but of his entire foundation. What was a prince without rule, a general without an army, a duelist with no duels? The only reason Adolin was even allowed back inside Urithiru and Alethkar was because they couldn’t afford to lose a Radiant.

Syl was a cool, soothing presence in his heart. Where was…? When he leaned back, he caught sight of a tiny roiling star on Adolin’s shoulder, one that flowed into the shape of a young woman, her light steadier than that of her flamespren cousins. Silent, she pressed a slim hand to Adolin’s cheek and ducked her face into his jawline, glowing like a candleflame against a bronze brazier. Adolin turned into her touch with the slightest of movements.

He still refused to respond to ‘Kholin’. He still wouldn’t touch a thread of cobalt blue.

He was still broken. But they all were.

Kaladin reached forward, cupping one hand behind Adolin’s head and guiding it to rest in the crook of his neck, the other settling on his back. Adolin’s breath hitched in a near-sob. Kaladin buried his nose in that black-and-gold hair as Adolin curled his arms around Kaladin’s waist, pulling him even closer. Their spren spun slowly in the air around them, windblown ribbon and scattered sunlight.

Kaladin breathed him a promise. “You’re here. You’re safe. It’s me. I won’t let you go.”


	3. CFSWF: Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The murder of a highprince has consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written for a meme response over on luck-crowned/the Tumblr RP account. But considering that CFSWF is happening, I figured I'd post it up here as well. Short and sweet! _[Warning: Major Character Death]_
> 
> Enjoy.

They had him dress all in white for the execution. White like the assassin. Pale like death. Some part of him is glad for this - even missing the blue, white is still a Kholin colour, and he takes a small comfort in knowing that he will die in it.

Ialai Sadeas had made it clear: exile was not an option for Adolin Kholin, not for this crime. _You would have this murderer walk free? One assassin already stalks the land, killing kings and highprinces alike! We cannot have another! Who would he come for next, if he deems any of us a “threat”? You preach of honor, Highprince Kholin - do you still have any, or will you turn your head and look the other way?_

She is there now, above the crowd. Sadeas’ widow does not wear mourning colours, but is dressed instead in the rich green of their House. It is both a tribute and a challenge. She watches Adolin with bitter, hateful eyes, but he keeps his head raised and only looks ahead as he climbs the steps, each footfall ringing in his ears.

They say that the executioner’s sword is nearly as sharp as a Shardblade. He hopes that it is true.

The Highjudge of Law at the top of the platform is flint-faced, betraying no emotion as she orders him to kneel. The soulcast stone is rough against his knees, much as the cuffs are where they scrape against his wrists. Adolin sits back on his bare heels as she reads both the accusation and the judgement, his bound hands resting on his thighs, his back and shoulders straight. He will face this with all the dignity of the prince he no longer is.

There will be no statue for him, no remembrance to last the ages. His body will burn, and without even the ceremony given to the lowest of darkeyes.

_Khokh dahn._

But name and rank were stripped from him by the law, not disownment by his father’s word, as it would have been were he exiled. He is still Kholin at heart, and they cannot take that from him. 

The knot of blue is easy to pick out from the rest of those gathered in the lighteyes’ seats. Shallan Davar is nowhere to be seen. He is glad of this. She visited him in the cells the night before, reaching her hand through the bars to twine her tiny fingers with his and say _‘I understand.’_  She might or might not feel for him the way he has come to feel for her, but either way, he will not have his death be another for her to watch.

Captain Kaladin stands stock-still, jaw clenched and gaze steady, though even from a distance Adolin can see the way his knuckles pale from the grip on his spear. _Watch my brother’s back, Bridgeboy. That’s all I ask._

Renarin trembles, hands gripping the railing as if that is all holding him back from jumping over it and running to his brother’s rescue.

His father stands there with tears in his eyes. 

Dalinar had had no choice.  _“I will unite them. I will bring men together.”_ \- those are his Words, lived by long before he had ever spoken them. There is a good chance that the _world would end_ if Dalinar didn’t stand by those words now. And so he had no choice, even if it meant the death of his eldest son.

Adolin meets his father’s gaze and holds it.

_It wasn’t the honorable thing to do. But it had to be done. For you, for Renarin, for everyone! You’re the Bondsmith, the highprince… you’re my **father**. You understand… don’t you?_

“…and as such, for the wilful murder and concealment of murder of Highprince Torol Sadeas, the sentence is death.”

Adolin’s eyes focus on Dalinar’s, never breaking, never moving, even as the headsman raises the blade.  _I’m not wearing blue I should be wearing blue, I was going to die in my armor in my uniform, in my bed when old and grey, I can’t go like this it’s not right it’s not_

His last thought before the falling blade severs his neck is in a small, terrified voice, like a child’s.

_I don’t want to die_

——

 

Dalinar Kholin finally closes his eyes and turns away.

 

Renarin’s grief-stricken screams echo long after his brother’s head hits the ground.

 

——


	4. Breathtaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted as a meme response on the RP blog, for the prompt ‘five times your muse found [x muse] breathtaking, and the one time they voice it’. 
> 
> Pairing: Kadolin. Assumes the 'Shardplate is a manifestation of the Radiant's spiritweb'-theory.

—  || ♜♛

 

> | one | - Adolin was exhausted, his Plate cracked and battered and his helm entirely burst to pieces, but this was their only chance. They had been given a touch of Ishi’s own luck when that single bridge returned; he would _not_  see Kholin fall now, not when safety was so close. Adolin fell into the familiar rhythm that was part training, part instinct, his world narrowed down to only the _fight_ as the Thrill sang through him.
> 
> The enemy lines broke.
> 
> There, just ahead of them, that group of strangely-armored bridgemen held the lone path to salvation. If Adolin had any time, or been less tired, he might have been amazed at the discipline and skill of those who were obviously naught but slaves. As it was, what that struck him in that single moment was the sight of the one at their tip of their spearpoint formation.
> 
> The man was taller than he was, lean as a whipcord and just as fast. For a second, Adolin almost thought he saw a windspren following the whirl of the bridgeman’s movements - storms, he wouldn’t be surprised if the breeze from the bridgeman’s flurry of blocks and strikes had lured it there. The precision of that form amidst the chaos of battle was a thing of beauty - man and spear as one.
> 
> In that moment, it was the most glorious thing he’d ever seen.
> 
> And then time regained its hold, and Adolin turned to the closest commanders. “I’m going back for the Highprince. Nan and Chach squads! Hold ranks, push the companies until you reach those bridgemen, and _keep the Parshendi off the bridge_. MOVE!” His roar was nearly lost in the din of the fighting, but he saw the last of the men who weren’t Cobalt Guard rush off, following his orders.
> 
> _Hold that chasm, bridgemen._

 

—  || ♜♛

 

> | two | - Kaladin jumping into the ring with six shardbearers was one of the most idiotic things Adolin had ever seen.
> 
> _One of the ten fools indeed._
> 
> Idiotic, yes, but… where had Bridgeboy been hiding _this_  skill? Adolin had seen him practice with his men, train in the sparring grounds with Zahel, fight in defense against a Parshendi assault. This, _this_  - the captain stood against two Shardbearers at once, as Adolin dragged his near-depleted Plate across the sands with all the sheer strength he could muster.
> 
> And Kaladin danced.
> 
> Oh, it was a fight, and an absolutely glorious one at that, but Kaladin spun and whirled like the wind itself. What need had the wind of armor? What need had a spren of the sky of anything to weigh it down? Kaladin’s feet barely seemed to touch the sands as he sidestepped, _leaped_ , dodging the strikes of the two Shardblades with such absolute grace that Adolin almost wished he could stop and stare.
> 
> It was nothing short of breathtaking.

 

—  || ♜♛

 

> | three | - Adolin watched over his shoulder as the laughing, enthusiastic bridgemen dragged their leader off to the barracks. They both looked like absolute _shit_ , desperately in need of a bath and a razor. Still, it was amazing what a little sunlight could do for Kaladin, it seemed. With every step further into the open air, the captain seemed revitalized, his back straightening, his steps a little more sure.
> 
> He’d refused the gift. Kaladin had _refused_  an entire set of Shards.
> 
> He’d done so without a breath of hesitation. A look, a beat, and he’d given them right to his second. 
> 
> It was _baffling_ , and Adolin had reiterated every single argument he could think of off the top of his head other than _‘Bridgeboy, you’re being an idiot again.’_  Yet with every refusal, every shake of his head, Adolin could almost see the tension draining from the captain’s frame as resolve took its place. 
> 
> Kaladin was a man who would not be swayed, not by this offer. A full set of Blade and Plate was worth _kingdoms_ , and Kaladin, by his actions in the ring that day, had proved himself more honorable than those who _did_  lead, but would stand by and offer nothing.
> 
> And so Adolin watched him as he left - dirty and still somewhat hunched from being caged for three weeks in a cell with only spherelight and stale air - a man who had saved a prince and turned down a princely gift.
> 
> Even in that slightly bowed back, there was an arresting, steadfast nobility to Kaladin. Sure, it had taken Adolin several near-death experiences to see it, but now… now, just maybe, he did.

 

—  || ♜♛

 

> | four | - It was hard to see through the pelting rains, but Adolin forced himself in his nearly-locked armor to his feet, battered and bruised and ready to fling himself at the Assassin, he would not let his father die like Roion had, he would not let- but it was too late. For any help _he_  could give, at least.
> 
> Kaladin descended from the sky like the wrath of Jezrien made mortal.
> 
> Adolin stared - bleeding, bruised, and utterly dumbfounded - as Kaladin hit the stone with a thundercrack and a blast of swirling stormlight. The last Adolin had seen of him, the man had been limping and weak from his fall into the chasms, left back in the warcamps as the army marched into the Plains.
> 
> Yet here he was. Here he was, a vision of light and power and sheer _radiance_ , shining like a beacon of hope in their hour of direst need.
> 
> Adolin exhaled with a tiny _huh_.
> 
> _I fucking knew it._

 

—  || ♜♛

 

> | five | - He’d known that his father had given the captain his cloak after the betrayal at the Tower. The freeing of the bridgemen had been the true repayment, of course; the cloak was simply something extra, a more tangible show of gratitude. Adolin had never seen him actually _wear_  it before, though.
> 
> It was one thing to see Kaladin in the blues and whites of the Kholin uniform, one amongst the many, yet distinguished. To see him draped in a cloak worthy of a prince, bearing that white-embroidered glyphpair, _his_ …
> 
> Adolin swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat.
> 
> “You sure formalwear isn’t too decadent for you, Bridgeboy?”

 

—  || ♜♛

 

| zero | - The Everstorm finally moved past once again, and with it, the battle. For the moment, they were safe. Adolin collapsed back into the welcoming curve of a tall, erosion-hollowed stone pillar, and ended up pressed against Kaladin’s side, his Plate clanking against the other’s.

Adolin dismissed his helm. It wouldn’t help him breathe easier, but the cool wind on his face was more than enough reason to forego it. He leaned back, closing his eyes as he let the adrenaline of the battle begin to subside. The thrum of stormlight would take longer, but even that would fade in time.

Kaladin was a warm heartbeat at his side, _vibrant_  in a way that was hard to explain. Dead Plate could transfer a sense of touch, somewhat - rough textures, pressure, that sort of thing - but living Plate, brought forth from something within the very Radiant themselves…

There was something _more_  that you could feel though the touch of living Plate.

Adolin breathed out, only a faint mist of light left to escape, and managed to lever himself up enough to look at the man who rested against his side, as he rested against Kaladin in turn. Kaladin’s face was slightly bloodied - red blood, human blood - but whatever wound it was from had already closed. His thick curls fell down into his gorget and over his cuirass in a messy tumble, lips slightly parted as he too caught his breath.

Adolin reached up to brush a lock of dark hair away from Kaladin’s face. The eyes that flicked up to him were a bright, shining blue, the luminosity of stormlight still captured within them. (He’d rather see them dark, dark brown, deep and warm and endless.) The back of Adolin’s gauntleted fingers stroked across Kaladin’s forehead and temple, tinting Kaladin’s skin with the slight ruby glow from the joints, and he did not bother to pull his hand away. They remained pressed together, side to side. 

Plate against Plate.

_Do you feel this too?_

“You’re beautiful.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In unending storms_   
>  _We search for space to breathe_   
>  _How our hearts are worn_   
>  _We've come so far_   
>  _In this desert_   
>  _How we blossom and we cease_   
>  _Tell your story now_   
>  _We have so much to know_
> 
> -Vienna Teng, _Shine_


	5. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Shadolin in response to the prompt 'We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair'. Set in exile!verse a good while after he's been kicked out and banned from Urithiru and Alethkar, all ties broken.

—  || ♜♛

Adolin woke to an unfamiliar warmth in his arms.

The fingertips of one hand prickled with encroaching numbness, but he dared not shift, not when Shallan rested against his bicep like a pillow, her forehead tucked up against his chest. A glance down showed only a shock of bright red hair, tousled and messy from sleep, and a slim, silk-covered shoulder that rose and fell with her slow, even breathing. His other forearm lay over her waist, lax hand very nearly brushing the small of her back. Her own hands were pinned between them, held comfortably against her chest, the curl of her knuckles pressing into his belly through the thin sleep-shirt.

Neither was gloved. He didn’t need to see that to _feel_ it.

Adolin swallowed, his mouth dry. There was only one bed – a decent size for one person alone, but very… _intimate_ for two – and she’d refused to take it when he’d started to lie down on the floor. She’d even climbed down and started dragging the covers off with her as soon as he protested the thought of sharing. _Bit her lip, raised her chin, and did it; I should have insisted further, stood my ground, but… Almighty, I was weak._

_Am weak._

Slowly, carefully, his hand drifted upwards, hovering a hairsbreadth over her shift and following the curve of her back – as if he could memorize the shape and feel of her, even without touch. The very ends of his fingertips trailed through her hair and up to her shoulder, tracing through the air above it. He lingered there a moment, the size of his hand in stark juxtaposition with the gentle slope of her shoulder. The desire to protect her – this small, porcelain-pale woman who was so much stronger than he’d first realized – flared like a waking ember in his heart. Not for the first time, he quashed it. She didn’t want that. And now, with his exile, it wouldn’t matter even if she did.

Upwards. At this angle, her face was hidden, but he could see the side of her cheek, half-obscured by the haphazard, mussed fall of red. As delicately as he could, Adolin brushed her hair out of the way.

It was too much, or just enough. Shallan stirred against him, her knee bumping into his leg and her hands slowly, unconsciously stretching away the night’s stiffness before she lifted her sleep-hazed gaze to his.  A blink, what might have been a smile, and Shallan made a lazy noise of complaint and snuggled right back against him.

Adolin stifled a laugh, though his answering smile was soft and apologetic. “Sorry I woke you.” His fingertips stroked through her hair, making little paths from her forehead all the way over and down to the nape of her neck. If this was to be the first and last time he ever held Shallan like this, then he’d indulge as much as he could.

“I’m not,” came her reply, slightly muffled against his chest. Shallan breathed in, hands curling in his shirt, and looked back up at him. “Even if it is too early.”

This time he _did_ laugh, a low, soft bark of a chuckle, as she yawned widely. “That’s right; you never were a morning person.” She said nothing of him caressing her hair, and so he did not stop. The silky tresses parted like water around his fingers.

“No. And late nights gathering information don’t exactly help.” Her gaze shifted, slipping away from his and back, not quite avoidant but not steady either. The tip of her tongue peeked out to wet her lips. “…but I’ve managed to get up early on some days, recently.”

He hummed, smiling, but it was tinged with sadness. “War business?”

_It shouldn’t be this way. Broken Radiant or not, your hands were not made for war – you should be charting out the wilds, finding new plants and cataloging the habits of some intriguing creature that caught your eye, or continuing your research with Jasnah, doing things that make you_ _**happy**_ _-_

“I see you in the sunrise.”

Adolin’s breath faltered in his chest.

Shallan reached up, nudging his hand where it had frozen in midair. With her _bare safehand_. “Don’t stop. It’s… it’s nice.”

Words refused to form. His lips parted to speak but his mind was a jumble, uncomprehending. Or rather, _knowing_ \- but in too much shock to process. His hand moved again, but this time to cup her cheek, fingertips disappearing into her hair. “Shallan,” was all he managed, a singular, incredulous exhale of disbelief.

She laid her safehand over his, and his heart nearly stopped.

“You speak like a wife, parted and waiting.” His turn to wet dry lips, now. “After everything that happened. After what I did.”

“What if I want to be?” There was a tremble in her voice and in her hand - _her safehand, bare, a measure of trust and comfort unparalleled_ \- but her eyes were steady as steel. “Unless the world ends, this Desolation won’t last forever.”

“I’m not- Shallan, I’m _exiled_. No home, no name, no _family_ -” Adolin choked on the knot of emotion that rose with saying the words, the pain of it all searing like a white-hot lance. “Our betrothal was nullified. I don’t even know how you _found_ me-”

“That is _my_ choice to make. And yours. No other.” Her grip tightened, fingers curling around his. “I’m not going to give up on this. I’m not going to give up _you_.”

His voice was barely a whisper. “You should.”

She bit her lip, shook her head. “ _Never._ ”

“And if I told you that _I_ wanted to break it? I thought this- the betrothal ended, so what if I wanted to keep it that way?”

“Then you’d be a liar. And you’re a terrible liar, Adolin.”

He couldn’t help it: he laughed. Mirthless and with a faint glint of tears, he laughed, leaning down and bowing his head to rest his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “Yeah. That’s been pretty well proven, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He felt her hand leave his, only for soft fingertips - one side noticeably more calloused than the other - to trail up his face, moving gently from his jaw to his cheekbones to the corners of his eyes. “Since the first time you took me on a date, and answered a silly question with far too much honesty for your own dignity.”

Adolin blinked his eyes open in surprise, snorted, and shoved her shoulder with just enough strength to roll her onto her back. “You bring that up _now?_ ” But her ploy had worked. She was smiling, and… so was he.

“It’ll make for a good story one day.” Shallan tilted her head, the angle almost _smug_ , and there was a twinkle in her eye as she said it that worried him.

Adolin sat up for a moment, shaking the pins and needles from the arm she’d slept on all night. Then he rolled the rest of the way to loom over Shallan, hands braced on either side of her as she looked up at him with that smile, hair fanned bright over the thin pillow. “That sounds like you plan on actually _telling someone_.”

“Maybe someone or ones in particular.” Shallan’s mischievous smile widened, and she reached up to tangle her fingers in black and gold. “Our children will have the strangest hair.”

His kiss pressed her back into the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written in response to the #4 prompt from [this writing meme](http://nightblink.tumblr.com/post/158404595186/right-to-the-good-parts-prompt-list), though _somebody_ decided to ask it over at the RP blog instead. Original post can be found over [here](http://luck-crowned.tumblr.com/post/158722094514/get-right-to-the-good-part-4-you-know-what-must).


	6. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Shakadolin in response to the prompt “Oh my god, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”
> 
> (established Adolin/Shallan, Kaladin pining, the other two pining right back)

—  || ☨

With a great effort, Kaladin opened his eyes.

Shallan released a tiny, edge-of-panic laugh of relief though her trembling smile from where she knelt on the stone at his side. “Y-you’re alive. Oh, by the tenth name of the Almighty, you’re _alive_.” Her hands shook as she reached down, laying one hand on his chest as if to reassure herself that he was breathing. Her gauntlet dissipated right before contact, and some small part of his brain registered that his own Plate was gone – shattered or dismissed, he knew not which.

“Wa-” Kaladin’s whole chest burned with the effort of attempting to speak. He stopped, focusing instead on lying there and just _breathing_ for a moment before trying again. It wasn’t just his torso; _everything_ ached, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. The pain twinged with the familiar blunted edge that spoke of stormlight-fueled healing. “Was it that bad?”

“It was.”

The voice that replied was far deeper than Shallan’s and came from a different direction. Kaladin managed to turn his head enough to look over and see Adolin approaching, helm blinking out of sight and Blade shifting back into a flare of molten sunlight. His armor was blackened to the elbows and bore dark scorch marks all across the front. He sank down on Kaladin’s other side, releasing a sigh that was shaky with- with _fear_? “We’re safe for now. But _you_ -” He pinned Kaladin with a glare that brooked no argument. “You give us a scare like this again and I will haul you back down to the ground _myself_.”

“Y’d have to reach me first.” Storms, even moving his jaw enough to speak hurt. It was getting a little better though, and as Adolin settled he could see Shallan dismiss her armor to rifle through her pockets, pulling out spheres that retained any glow of stormlight to them, no matter how faint. These she placed on his chest one by one as she kept up her search. Kaladin took the light gratefully, each little bit another balm to his fading agony.

Above him, Shallan paused to glance over at Adolin. “Do you have anything you could spare…?”

“No.” He held out one hand, the ruby light of the joints shining weakly over his scorch-darkened Plate. “I’m all tapped out. The last of yours should be enough until Renarin or more spheres get here.”

Kaladin’s eyelids fell closed into the comfort of darkness as they spoke, and he let the sound of their voices wrap around him like a sanctuary. _We always carry extra stormlight, as much as possible. If Shallan’s on the last dregs in her spheres and Adolin’s entirely out…_

“How-” Kaladin breathed, taking in another small surge of light, and opened his eyes. “What happened? The last thing I can remember was flying towards the bluffs at the northern end of the fighting; I saw a signal that there were more thunderclasts climbing up from below the escarpment…”

Adolin sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it- it wasn’t pretty. Jasnah got there after you weren’t able, but the men were already caught between the ridges and the cliff edge. It’s a miracle we got _any_ of the soldiers out of there alive.” His jaw tightened visibly as he looked down to meet Kaladin’s gaze. “You never made it there. By some chance, I happened to have a moment to look up at the right time to see it – another thunderclast on the blind side of an outcrop just as you were rounding it. As fast as you were flying, there was no time to react.

“It swatted you right out of the sky.”

Kaladin recalled a vague memory – impact and pain more than any true visual – as Shallan picked up the thread of events, her voice and hands both steadier than before. She still kept her hand on his chest, curling her fingers into his rumpled, sweaty waistcoat as if she could anchor his soul there by force of will alone. “I was close enough that Adolin signaled me to follow. We had to- to make a push, break the lines to get to where you fell. Through storm-forms and thunderclasts – the battalion helped us punch through, but stayed back to hold the ground they’d won; then Adolin got to play bait for the one that hit you as I searched-”

“Excuse you, that was a _fight_ , not _playing bait_ -”

At least that explained how Adolin had used up all his stormlight, as well as the char marks. No doubt, somewhere in their wake were the smoking remains of that thunderclast.

Shallan reached across to smack Adolin on his armoured shoulder. “Call it a diversion then, dear, if that will assuage your pride,” she turned to smile softly down at Kaladin, her grip on his waistcoat tightening, “but it was enough to keep its attention off me so I could find you. Pattern kept talking to me the entire way about lashings and velocity and trajectory – it helped, narrowed down where you might have fallen, and I found- I found you here.”

She bit her lip, relaxing her hand and smoothing out the wrinkles she’d made in the fabric. “Your Plate was shattered. I think I saw some shards of it scattered around before they faded; the fact that your armor was still there in _any_ form was enough for me to hope, even though you looked nearly as-” Shallan’s eyes flickered away from his as the next word caught in her throat, unspoken. “I took my pouch of extra spheres and- and I couldn’t do anything else but _pray_ that you could use it, could breathe it, that you weren’t so far taken by death that you couldn’t…”

_But I was still here. Still alive. Because you two spearheaded an assault and risked everything to get to me._

“No. Maybe if you hadn’t reached me so quickly, but you _did_.” His voice was stronger now, clearer, and the rise and fall of his chest didn’t pain him nearly as much as it had before. Kaladin waited until Shallan looked back to him and held her gaze, the corner of his mouth turning up in the barest hint of a smile. She returned it with a broader one, a little laugh that was barely more than a breath escaping her. Adolin was smiling as well – but soft, relieved, and one of his broad hands settled on Kaladin’s shoulder. Kaladin raised a hand, fingers limp, to thump the back of his knuckles weakly against Adolin’s leg armor in thanks. “You did. Even if you had to bring out the explosive bait.”

“As soon as you’re released from bed rest, Stormblessed, I am going to _end you_.”

Kaladin thumped his knuckles against Adolin’s leg again, this time a little harder. “Fight me, Kholin.”

“I’d refuse to acknowledge you using my own taunt against me if it wasn’t _exactly what I want anyway_.”

Shallan laughed again, and this time the lingering worry was barely evident in it as she fondly muttered “ _Alethi!”_ under her breath. Kaladin turned his head to face her, a return quip ready on the tip of his tongue despite his exhaustion, but it faltered and failed as Shallan reached down to pull his hand into her lap and take it in both of hers, comfortingly stroking the back with her thumbs.

Both of them. And on the left… no glove.

Desire and dismay flared in his heart simultaneously.

_What are you doing why are you doing this Adolin is right here your other half in all but ceremony you can’t be doing this I don’t want to hurt him but I don’t want to hurt you but I can’t have either of you this can’t be happening I can’t-_

But a second touch - _not Shallan_ \- brushed Kaladin’s long, blood-streaked hair out of his face, a gentle caress that lingered at his temple and cheek. “Hey, don’t start slipping away from us again.” Storms, was he still delirious from his brush with death, or was it more than just his hope that that tenderness in Adolin’s voice and gaze and touch was... real? “We’ve lost too much to this Desolation already. We can’t lose you as well. _Not you._ ”

Slowly, wonderingly, but before his own hesitation could betray him, Kaladin lifted his free hand, resting it featherlight at the corner of Adolin’s mouth as his other hand curled around Shallan’s bare fingers. Neither moved to push him away.

“You won’t.”

_Maybe it isn’t too much to hope._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in response to the #8 prompt from [this writing meme](http://nightblink.tumblr.com/post/158404595186/right-to-the-good-parts-prompt-list) over on my Tumblr main blog. Original post can be found over [here](http://nightblink.tumblr.com/post/159471756135/for-the-right-to-the-good-parts-prompts-maybe).


	7. Reach Forth and Stumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few interconnected short posts written in response to one-word prompts for Adolin. This chapter contains Oathbringer speculation and eventual Radiant!Adolin. No pairings present unless you want to slide on your rose glasses for a second while reading the first part.

—  || ♜♛   —  _Fall_

Adolin would remember the sound of the bridge cracking for the rest of his life.

He almost didn’t hear the first, almost innocuous pop of shearing wood over the pounding of his feet, the breakneck run at the chilling realization of a saboteur in their midst. None could miss the sound that followed, though – in the blink of an eye, what was a sturdy bridge only moments before became a thundering cacophony of snapping wood, screeching metal, and cracking stone. Planks shattered around and underfoot as Adolin flung himself forward, every fiber of his being screaming to  _get Father out of there!_

His footing was steadier and surer than it had any right to be as the bridge heaved and other men slipped and fell screaming into the chasm below. Dalinar stumbled, reaching through the air in a useless attempt to find stability, his feet sliding, slipping under the buckling wood as his boots lost friction, and then Adolin was there. In Plate, another man’s weight was laughably easy to carry, and a single bounding leap sent them both crashing onto the opposite plateau, Adolin barely keeping his feet from the unsteady jump, chips of stone splintering out from his landing.

Behind them, the bridge fell.

It had been only seconds.

Crackling, burning fury rose to overwhelm the adrenaline of terror. The snap of a glance showed that the traitor was already subdued, a blade to his throat and his hands and arms being trussed up by stone-faced, blue-coated bridgemen. Adolin had half a mind to kill him on the spot. His father was safe, standing now beside him on the plateau, but there had been so many others on that crossing…

_Shallan. Bridgeboy._

The edge of the plateau was only a few steps away. With the slight angle of the afternoon sun, darkness swallowed the bottom of the chasm. Deep gouges raked the walls where the bridge had scraped and tumbled its way down, and even as Adolin watched, pieces of rock crumbled from the broken edges to plink and fall and disappear into the shadow below.

_There’s no way they survived._

If there was a tremble to his hands, even in their gauntlets, his father did not mention it.

 

—  || ♜♛   —  _Breathe_

Adolin rolled the sphere between his fingers, the skymark painting his fingertips blue.

He wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this jealousy.

It was an almost entirely foreign emotion. He’d never needed to  _worry_  about jealousy much. Sure, there’d been times when envy prickled low and uncomfortable in the back of his throat, but it was always easy enough to brush aside. If not, it was a goal he could strive for, work towards,  _do_ something about. 

What had he ever needed to be jealous of? He was a  _prince_. He was good at what he was good at, through both inclination and sheer effort - everything from tactics and fighting to people and dancing. Perhaps he wasn’t the quickest thinker, but you couldn’t have everything; besides, Renarin was the smart one, a sharp mind even if he couldn’t always find the right words, and Adolin was ever inclined towards pride in his brother rather than begrudgment. Even now, when Renarin could extend glowing hands and seal a bleeding cut, or ease away a bruise, his overwhelming feeling for his brother was  _pride_.

But it wasn’t just Renarin. It was the assassin, who moved like smoke and sent men flying with a touch. It was Shallan, who showed him how she spun images out of light and air, or cloaked herself to become someone else entirely. It was Bridgeboy -  _Kaladin_  - who arched through the sky like a star and landed like a meteor. It was Father, who sometimes now spoke with the very rumble of the Stormfather behind his voice. Storms - even a good many of the bridgemen guards, those in Kaladin’s own squad, had shades of that power now. One had even  _regrown his missing arm_.

It all coalesced into feeling… left behind. Not good enough. Normally, that would spark a drive in him to catch up, overtake,  _become better_ , but this… 

No matter how much he tried, it was like reaching out his hand and grasping only ash and dust.

 _Once more._  

A breath. Quick, sharp.

The skymark gleamed, unchanged.

He let the sphere roll into his palm, and clenched his fist around it until his nails dug painfully into the meat of his hand. The sapphire light glowed like an ember through the closed spaces between his fingers. Adolin pressed his fist to his face, eyes closed, and kept his breathing deliberately, carefully steady.

_You’re the Blackthorn’s heir, the next Highprince Kholin. You lead an army of thousands into battle, your father nearly stepped down in favor of you only months ago._

 

_Then why do I feel like I’m becoming useless?_

 

—  || ♜♛    — _Gr_ _ave_

 _Adolin Kholin_  was dead.

The man yet walked, but the person who once bore that name was no more. Dalinar Kholin had but one son – a brave, intelligent, quiet young man who was utterly unprepared for the duty that now settled on his shoulders.

_Rin… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

They spared his life and called it mercy.

His given name he kept. He was the only one to do so. That name was now to be struck from the records of his bloodline, removed as if he’d never been born. There was no _Kholin_ named _Adolin_.

_If they took my head instead, would they have let me keep my family name?_

Perhaps it was a strange thing to fixate on. But the name – that was at the crux of it all. Kholin was his duty. Kholin was his family. Kholin was his _entire foundation_.

Who was he, if not the sum of what  _made_  him who he was?

He was not a duelist. His Plate, passed down from his mother, remained back in Urithiru, as did the Blade that he’d won through his own skill. Perhaps his father – _not your father anymore you’re disowned you’re thrown out you have no right_ – had already given the set to someone else, as now of all times they needed skilled Shardbearers. What duels would he even fight, if he still had his Shards?

He was not a commander. Even with the skill of seven years on the battlefield and the experience of leading an entire Princedom’s army, he no longer had the authority. He no longer had the _men_. Without people to lead, leadership meant nothing, and any respect and rapport that he’d built with the soldiers was now only dust on the wind.

He was not a Prince. All else that Adolin had become, he’d discovered along the way, but he’d been  _born_  a prince. There’d been no question that he would one day succeed Dalinar as Highprince Kholin - the only uncertainty had been in how well he would rise to the position. His whole  _life_  had been a preparation for that eventual day when he would trade his circlet for a crown.

And now that day would never come.

_You are not a Kholin. You have no father, you have no brother. Do you even have a heart anymore, or did it remain with them, as it always has?_

Adolin Kholin was dead.

A man walked toward the sunset, away from everything he ever knew.

 

—  || ♜♛   —  _Shatter_

“I feel…” He hesitated, trying to find the words to describe it, but they always felt like they were just out of reach, or turned to images or feelings as soon as he grasped them. “I felt like a cracked glass, one that can’t hold water well anymore, so it’s set aside until it’s finally discarded. I’m not  _good_ at holding back a secret like that, that  _guilt_ , and I was brittle enough to snap- and  _did_ snap, at Kaladin, at  _Father-_ ”

Adolin released a shaky breath, running both hands over his face and though his hair before holding them out before himself and staring at them. “Useless, I was feeling  _useless_ , and hating and hurting and  _jealous_ , and I wasn’t  _good enough_  and… there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could fight against, nothing I could do to make myself better – nothing to do but… shatter.”

She – his  _spren_  – curled around his fingers, looking like nothing more than a stream of molten sunlight, before she coalesced into a woman’s form in the center of his cupped palms. Even then, she still glowed softly, though she did not flicker like the flamespren she most resembled. The spren of  _forces_ did not bond to possible Radiants like spren of  _ideas_  did, though. Her kind were cousins to flame, she’d explained, though their connection to base energy ran even deeper. He was no scholar to know what she meant by  _plasma_  and  _fission_ , and she didn’t seem to entirely know herself. ‘ _Maybe someday,’_  she’d said, ‘ _when I’ve been with you long enough to remember.’_

“Is this what all the others feel,” he whispered to her, quiet not because he was afraid of someone hearing, but because of the effort it took to speak around the lump of emotion lodged in his throat. “Kaladin and Shallan and Renarin…  _Rin_ , heralds! He bonded to Glys long before any of us knew about it, he must have been broken and alone and-”

He choked, unable to form words, and bowed his head as his shoulders shook.  _Useless, **useless** , couldn’t even ensure that Rin was happy, was safe, what a  **failure**_ _of a brother I am. I love him, I tried my best, and it wasn’t enough._ ** _I_  ** _wasn’t…_

A soft, almost insubstantial point of warmth touched his cheek. “I don’t understand. Do you- regret? Do you wish you hadn’t killed the Betrayer, so you wouldn’t have been cast out?”

 _Betrayal_ – to a spren like her, who embodied loyalty and valued courage, obedience, and duty, treachery was the worst of sins. His eyes remained closed a moment longer before he looked up –  _down_ , really – to see her tiny outstretched hand, shining white-gold, and a saddened, puzzled frown on her delicate face. “No, I don’t. Not Sadeas. But it’s more than just him, it’s not that simple-”

“Isn’t it?”

He sighed, her skirts rippling in the slight breeze it created. How could he explain to her the crushing grief of hindsight, what he might have done if he had only  _known_  – and even then might have failed anyway? ‘ _Not good enough’_  echoed voicelessly in the dark recesses of his mind. “No.”

She hummed, brows furrowing; though her understanding was slowly growing over time, human complexities continued to baffle her. “But… no matter the actions or regret, these remain in the past. What’s done is done. Why do you let them hold you back?”

_Because Renarin is wounded deeper than I ever knew, and now he’s thrust into a responsibility he never wanted. Because I can’t be there to help those I love, and what could I even offer if I were?_

“Because I don’t know where I’m going anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompts were given and answered over [here](http://luck-crowned.tumblr.com/tagged/%7C%7C-%E2%99%9C%E2%99%9B-%3B-drabble-%7C%7C).


End file.
